King of Toys
by doodlefreak
Summary: In truth, Mikado's never really known the depth of Masaomi's life. Izaya/Kida, mature themes.


_This was inspired by a conversation between Izaya and Kida from volume 3 of the light novels. I'd like to thank anni_fiesta over at Livejournal for translating it for the rest of us to read. It made me realize just how manipulative Izaya can be, and why people love this twisted pairing so much. I think I ship Izaya/humans+Shizuo now. And don't worry, this oneshot contains no spoilers, so read on~ Tried to capture Narita's voice in this, but it probably ended up a little darker and... well, yes, perverted. Much more. But hey, since he's got the yuri fanservice down pat, I figure us fans have to level it out with plenty of bacon-lettuce love._

_Warning: M/M pairing, partial and unwilling voyeur, underage sex.  
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters mentioned. If I did, Celty would be cursed to live in a world where Shizaya predominates everything around her._

_Please _enjoy_._

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In truth, Mikado's never really known the depth of Masaomi's life. In the four years he had been absent from his friend's presence, Mikado had been unable to see the underlying change and the misfortune he had gone through. He's hid it so well, Masaomi had, and Mikado had been so dense to believe that nothing shady had ever passed through his friend's life while in Tokyo, a place he'd only dreamt of for so long, and a place that was crawling with crime and gangs. How could he have been so dense? How could he have been so _blind_?

And at the root of it all—not, at the top of everything—Orihara Izaya stood proudly, smugly. Mikado could understand why Shizuo held so much toward such a man.

"You're actually enjoying this, right?" That smile is like venom dripping through clear water, that voice is like fangs sinking into the flawless skin of an apple. It's the voice of a man who considers himself above human standards, yet loves them on a level no one but himself could ever understand. "Ma-sao-mi," his voice sing-songed. Mikado can't see where it's coming from, it was reverberating all around, like a cave or a sealed off, dark room.

"Stop," was a simple command, simple to understand and simple to carry out. However, when accompanied by something like, "you don't have a right to call me that," it was maybe hard to perceive what he was trying to convey. Mikado isn't sure of this, because he is more concerned with the fact that Orihara Izaya and Masaomi are in the same vicinity as them, but where are they, anyway? It was all so dark.

"Is that so?" The tone of his voice completely contradict his words, because Mikado was sure that whatever Masaomi didn't want him to do, Izaya was doing anyway, with a tone that sounds completely ignorant to the level of seriousness to Masaomi's words. Or, perhaps he just doesn't feel as threatened as he should have. That sounds a bit more like Izaya.

Then, the smallest of lights. Dim, saturated and barely helpful at all. It was like a window, a very clouded one, but Mikado could finally make out some of what was going on around him, and when his eyes finally adjust with the difficulty of an old camera lens, he sees the two. They look to be sitting on something, something Mikado can't make out clearly, in close proximity. Actually, the situation he sees unfold before him looks very suspicious. Masaomi looked uncomfortable, to say the least, Izaya is directly behind him, head close enough that Izaya could have leaned forward just enough and rested his head on his friend's small-looking shoulder. His body is definitely pressed snugly against Masaomi's, his legs branching out widely to accommodate for Masaomi's frame between them, thighs brushing his hips.

Mikado feels his breath become hot from embarrassment and distress. What had Masaomi gotten himself into? Didn't he say to stay away from Izaya? Or maybe this was the reason? Was Masaomi already in this deep? Mikado wanted to look away, he really did, but it was like his body was not present, only his view, and so there was nothing to help him turn away his gaze, or to shield his eyes.

Izaya's filthy hands come into view, and Mikado almost hisses at them when they wrap around his friend's waist so comfortably, like they deserve to be there. In reality, his hands are maybe a bit calloused from wielding a knife all the time and those awful scraps with Shizuo, but they look clean and precise, and even his nails are trimmed with the delicacy of a woman.

Now, Masaomi isn't saying anything. He looks away in another direction as Izaya's hands slip under his shirt, rubbing those rough hands against smooth skin, against small scars left from things Mikado has no idea about, and Masaomi isn't saying anything. Mikado wants to tell him to stop, to stop touching his friend in such a way, that he doesn't like men, let alone Izaya, and he wants to run forward but it still feels like his body isn't present.

_Masaomi!_ His head screams at them, but yet again, nothing comes forth.

Izaya's mouth curves upward at the lack of protest in intensifying glee, his hands curl in the same way, one dropping down to slip and few fingers into Masaomi's waistline, the other venturing upward to travel across skin Mikado can't see. Finally, and Mikado heaves a sigh of gratefulness, Masaomi's hand stops Izaya's from messing with his belt buckle.

But before Mikado can feel the tension in his mind ease, Masaomi instead leads that hand downward more, making it cup around a bulge Mikado had refused to make out from the darkness. Izaya frowns slightly, but then shrugs, leaning his head down finally and enveloping Masaomi's neck in light kisses and painful looking bites, and again Mikado feels the strong urge to look away while Izaya's lower hand begins to move and Masaomi's hand helps build a rhythm along with the thrust of his hips. Blood trickles from his friend's neck, but that doesn't stop him from leaning his head to the side, revealing more to be devoured and bruised.

Both sets of legs widen; Masaomi's simply to adhere to his body's wishes, Izaya's to allow those wishes.

"What are you thinking, _Masaomi_? Izaya smile bleeds into his words, painful to hear.

Masaomi's breath hitches into a surprised gasp, hips stalling for a moment when Izaya squeezes harder, Mikado knows from experience what would be painful in this situation and what would not, and this is probably teetering on the edge a bit. He wishes he could lie to himself, tell himself that Masaomi didn't enjoy it, but he knows better from the expression on his face that he most certainly _did_. Why is he giving in so easily?

"Nothing," Masaomi hisses, and Mikado is glad that he hears some form of resistance in those words, but the bite in them is dulled to the point of nonexistence when he bites his lip and tries thrusting again.

"'I like Anri', right? Is that what you were thinking?"

Masaomi doesn't look like he wants to listen. He shuts his eyes tightly, in pain.

"I don't believe you're still lying, Masaomi—"

"—Stop, stop saying my name, please—"

"—when we both know so clearly that I know _exactly_ what you're thinking. Lie to yourself all you want, but that doesn't stop the fact that you're thinking 'I'm doing this to save Anri, I'm doing this to save the both of them, I have to or they'll be involved, I don't want that. It can't happen'. But that's all a lie, Masaomi, we both know you can't save anyone."

Mikado hadn't known Masaomi was in this amount of pain, for when a terribly dry-sounding sob leaves his friend's throat at Izaya's words, a foreign anxiety and sadness washes over him.

"Just stop…" Masaomi pleads, rubbing cheek into Izaya's palm when it's offered to try and distract either himself or his tormentor. Izaya's hand starts to massage Masaomi's arousal once again, his own hips grinding into the boy's backside.

"I don't remember you ever breaking this easily. Maybe I will go after them after all. I think their reactions will be a little more… interesting, hm?"

At this, Masaomi's head turned quickly, teeth sinking violently into the flesh of Izaya's hands, blood surrounding the wound and leaking into is friend's mouth. Izaya hisses in pain, ignoring the wound and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look back, into his chillingly calm eyes.

"That's a little more like it," he says approvingly before Masaomi rushes at him again, biting his lower lip and drawing more blood, to which Izaya's lips twitch with amusement and his eyes crinkle in unsuppressed glee, his mouth enveloping Masaomi's with ease and doing much more damage than Masaomi had. When they break apart, Izaya doesn't give him any time to breath, hands working quickly on both the skin under his shirt and the bulge in his jeans. Masaomi screams and bucks into the touches angrily, eventually turning his face into Izaya's neck, biting at it in rage. Izaya either doesn't notice or he's too busy focusing on the task at hand, and Mikado couldn't be sicker to his stomach than he is right now.

"I'm glad you're so interesting, Masaomi…"

When Izaya's hand rips the belt from its place and slips his hand in to retrieve something Mikado would rather not mention, he's glad his vision is so blurry, because he would rather die right here than have to see this, let alone any of it at all. He can't help but feel more of his friend's pain through seeing the anger he displays at all of Izaya's actions, the way he touches him so freely, as if he were an item to be possessed, a trinket to play around with and stain as many colors as he wishes. But when they finish, it's impossible not to hear Masaomi's sounds of release, the anger rasped in his throat and the pain in his facial expressions.

Mikado is finally allowed to look away, for his mind cannot take another second of such brutality, and his consciousness quietly fades.

"…because if you weren't, I'd have to throw away my most valuable toy."

xxx

Mikado, startled awake, sweat pouring down his face, stared up at his ceiling with a two-ton feeling of dread in his stomach. Again, he had experienced a nightmare he couldn't remember, a trauma that wouldn't leave his mind for the rest of the morning until he saw his two friends' faces. But this time, for some reason, he knew it wouldn't fade that easily.

He sat up slowly, covers pooling at his waist with a quiet rustling, reaching for his cell phone and dialing Masaomi's number, hands shaking.

"Masaomi?"

"—_Stop, stop saying my name, please—"_

The phone clattered to the floor. "Mikado? He—y, what's up? I was asleep, you know, you'd better make it up to me later. How about not accompanying me and Sonohara-san home tonight, or buying ice-cream this ti—Mikado? Mikado, what's wrong?"

Staring for a brief moment more, he gulped down bile. Shaking his head, he reached for the phone.

"Sorry, it's nothing."

But his hands were shaking.


End file.
